


Ticklish?

by Cerfblanc



Series: Teen Sam & Nathan [4]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Coming of Age, Implied Incest, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc
Summary: "What's so funny? I just hit you!""Ah, nothing," he stopped, and chuckled to himself, "I just know you're lying.""Lying about what?"He smirked, "About being ticklish."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are still currently in working-process, I'm posting some old work I've kept for some time to try and keep this series updated, thank you for reading!

_Nathan_

~

"Are you still ticklish?"

" _No_."

Don't get me wrong, I loved my brother to bits. Sure, I sometimes felt like I wanted to hammer him and lock him away somewhere for eternity, but I was currently on a series of pretty good terms with him.

But now, I think he was just on the verge of making me want to strangle him.

Mom was in the kitchen making dinner.

My brother was sat at the far side of the lounge. He was stretched out along one of the sofas like a cat, a cheeky grin on his face as he spied on me.

"I was just asking." He responded, playfully defensive in tone.

"Well…I'm not…" I said again, trying my hardest not to hesitate or stammer when I spoke back to him.

Sam had this look that came with all the things one would absolutely hate within a mere glimpse; when he stares at me with that smile of his — with those unpredictable eyes and the occasional, hooded, lazy blink — I felt like I was going mad. He drove me crazy, sometimes. I still had no idea how he did this to me, mentally.

"You sure?" He questioned once more, his tone still playful.

I didn't answer.

Our relationship had always been very open. We had always been close, ever since I was born, when Sam was five years old and instantly wanted to mother me more than Mom wanted to. I remember taking baths with him at the age of three, and Mom would leave us there for ten minutes to play in the tub of shallow warm water filled with sweet-smelling bubbles. I remember I accidentally rubbed shampoo in one of my eyes, and I cried for at least twenty minutes, and Sam insisted that he'd do everything he could to help me 'get better'.

Our childhood was petty and innocent, and now, just thinking about it made me want to throw up. Not that I didn't like the memories, I just didn't feel any good nostalgia towards them — well, a few of them — I wasn't fond of the ones where the two of us were below the stage of innocence — when we had no idea what the hell our genitals were used for — even though it was a pretty simple thing to understand from any age.

I could still recall some of the weird things we did together as children, thus I knew he would be able to remember them too.

I had the sudden urge to ask him right then and there.

"Sam?"

He looked up from his phone, idly nibbling his bottom lip, and half-spoke through his teeth, "What's up?"

"Remember you said you would marry me?"

Sam blinked and frowned to himself, letting his phone fall on to his chest as he thought deeply for a moment. I could see him search for the long-term memory, and when he let out a small, dismissive chuckle, I knew he remembered it well.

"Do you?" I asked again.

He picked up his phone, smiling and very faintly shook his head, as if not wanting to admit it, "Yeah. I remember. Why, are you already thinking about marriage?" He shot with smirk.

"No…" I began, "…I just…I thought that…"

What _did_ I think of it?

Sam set down his phone again, and watched me intently as I tried to find my words. He then got up off his seat with a gentle grunt, and flopped down beside me instead. He moved an arm round the back of the sofa, behind me, and I shifted in my place.

"…You thought I would _really_ marry you…?" He said gently. I looked over to him, rolled my eyes, and gave him a light shove, earning a laugh.

"Well I _thought_ you would."

Sam slipped an arm around me, pulled me close, and leant down near to my ear, "If I proposed to you, right now, would you say yes?"

Embarrassment flooded through my body, and filled the pit of my stomach to the brim, practically drowning the 'butterflies' that apparently rested there.

I could hardly think never mind responding to what he just said, and my head ached for about a minute, debating to my conscience on whether to agree to his pretend vow.

"What now?" When I finally got the urge to reply, my voice came out an octave higher than it was, and Sam tried to restrain himself from sputtering out a laugh.

"What the _fuck_ was _that_?" He said, already breathless from his internal cackles, briefly rubbing his fingers across his mouth before lightly and somewhat nervously scratching the back of his neck. Although, through all of his nerves, he still grinned. Which annoyed me. A lot.

"My voice is fucking up, okay? Leave me alone."

"It's cute."

"Sam, not funny."

"I kinda like it, actually."

" _Sam_."

"You sound like one of those hentai girls from—"

Almost immediately, I gave up with him too fast and brought one of the sofa cushions down across his face. I had expected him to let out a curse, meaning I had gained a bit of victory, but what came out from him was a breathless, unpredictable laugh. It scared me a little, in all honesty.

"What's so funny? I just hit you!" I shot, my temper suddenly rising from zero, already ticking like a bomb. Sam sat up, letting out a sigh as he ran his hands through his messy hair, trying to compose himself just after being thwacked across the face, and cleared his throat.

"Ah, nothing," he stopped, and chuckled to himself, "I just know you're lying."

"Lying about what?"

He smirked, "About being ticklish."

_Shit._

"I-I'm not." I stammered out.

"Oh yeah?" He challenged, and slid closer to my side, "Prove it."

_Think, Nate._

I could feel myself flush when my older brother wouldn't take his eyes off me. He was driving me in to submission, and I sure didn't like it.

"Isn't me just telling you enough…for proof?" I said, reluctantly looking towards him.

His right thigh pressed against mine, and he moved an arm round the back of the sofa, around the back of my neck.

He leant close to my ear then, and whispered in a hushed, childish tone, "Nah."

The next minute I felt his hand dart to my stomach, and my first reaction was a helpless squeal — his fingers crawled to get underneath my top, and they successfully did once I turned to sprint off the couch and for the open lounge door, but he quickly hooked an arm around my waist, pulling me back in one yank.

"Sammy stop!!!" My voice was already beginning to feel dry with the sudden overwhelming atmosphere, and my head felt as if it were swimming. Everything felt chaotic — but a _good_ chaotic.

Sam had a cheeky smile on his face when I opened my teary eyes, and I started having a brief fit of giggles as I felt him move on to my chest; his head buried underneath my top. I could feel his lips and teeth kiss and nip my skin here and there, making me even more hysterical, and then, as quick as it had happened, something changed.

My whole body shuddered the moment I felt my brother's tongue smooth up over the most sensitive parts of my chest.

Fear ran through my veins, adrenaline freezing in to thought, and this feeling — this _feeling_ began to overtake my whole being.

Sam's licks and sucks weren't helping at all, and it didn't take me long to figure out that he _knew_ he wasn't tickling me. He _knew_ he was doing this. And he _knew_ how I felt about it.

Although, I didn't know how _he_ felt about it.

Automatically, my lower half felt somewhat numb, and my clothed thighs opened, giving Sam access to press himself in to me.

"S-Sam," I uttered, my voice hitching in the back of my throat as I tried to speak, trying to let him know what I was feeling, "L-Let me go."

_God, he wouldn't stop._

_Maybe he couldn't?_

" _Wait_ ," I was breathing heavily now. His hips were rocking up in to mine, and his weight overpowered me. It was as if he was suffocating me. I could hardly think, "Sam, y-you're making me—"

" _Shut up_."

I shuddered at my brother's tone, and he properly pulled my top up to my collarbone, the cool air of the lounge licking the parts of my skin that were wet.

I looked up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath throughout the situation, all the while hoping Sam would stop and leave me alone, but he continued.

When I let out a soft whimper and a gasp, the feeling grew stronger.

Sam looked up to meet my gaze.

Did I _really_ want him to stop?

"D-Don't look at me like that," I said, sucking in a breath as I gently pushed him away by his jaw. God, I felt so helpless against him. Everything he was doing was driving me in to being a whole new person.

My body felt warm. Too warm.

I instantly freaked out once I felt his palm cup my clothed crotch, and I let out a loud yelp. Sam panicked momentarily, and we both forgot Mom was just in the room beside us; he slapped a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.

Lots of things ran through my head when our hips moved together. I wanted to know what he was thinking. What was he intending to do after this? Why was he doing this?

It wasn't like this was a complete shock to me — well, in some way it was, and in another it wasn't — I should have known something like this would happen. Now that I think about it, I even remember the weird little hints Sam occasionally decided to drop here and there, and I didn't think twice about them all. Not one of them.

It reminded me of when he would gently press his lips to my cheek when he was going away somewhere with his friends for a few days; he'd smile and say, 'be good for Mom, little brother' and I would still think nothing of it.

I remember I would sneak in to his bed after lights out, after tiptoeing down the hall to his bedroom, on a late Sunday night, when Mom would have wanted us to get a good night's sleep for Monday morning, but we both chose not to, out of what seemed like innocence and petty childlike fun.

He would tell me stories, and I would ask him questions that went from 'when did Sir Francis Drake die?' to 'what month do you think Mom and Dad had sex before you were born?'

Sam would laugh, and would probably get us caught if he laughed any louder, which made me laugh at how he tried to restrict himself. We would hide under his duvet, and sometimes read one of the books he apparently 'borrowed' from the school library, with a torch to help us see.

When we weren't sneaking in to each other's bedrooms and stealing books from libraries, on the weekends when Mom was out at work, Sam would do things like prank call his ex-girlfriend on an unknown number, pretending he was the zodiac serial killer, or he and I would attempt at making cookies or brownies of some sort.

Little things were what got me the most. I enjoyed every one of them, and this would have been one of them, if Sam had not decided to turn things upside down. The guilt was overpowering, and I wasn't sure whether I was able to hold it any longer.

"You like it, don't you."

My brother's husky voice snapped me out of my reverie. I blinked up at him, and realised what he meant. His hand was still clasped tight over my mouth.

I wanted to move. I wanted to do something. Heat formed between my thighs, then. I had hoped if anything like this happened, I wanted to be alone to finish it myself, but today, I had company.

And that company started it.

When Sam saw how transfixed I was in thought, his eyes became clear; he became concerned, and he pulled his hand away from my mouth. The tips of his fingers trailed down my bottom lip, ravishing the second before he properly pulled away. I swallowed.

Sam licked his lips as he neared my face, his breath hitting my jaw, making me shudder, "Answer me."

"I don't want to." I whispered back.

The heat was growing stronger, and it was beginning to feel painful.

I shouldn't have said anything.

My older brother rocked his hips in to me once more, harder this time, and my eyes widened at what I felt. My body screamed for me to slip my hand in to the front of my jeans, to rid the restricting fabric and get on with the current problem, and I agreed, but Sam grabbed my right wrist — following my left — and pinned them both high above my head, preventing my thought.

I could feel my brother rub against me.

He was as hard as I was, that was for sure, and was wanting the same thing as me, but more than what I needed. I didn't want to go that far.

I let out a grunt, and my head became hazy when I felt myself reach my peak due to friction only. It made me feel weak in a way.

I then noticed I hadn't been paying attention to anything. We both stopped.

Sam looked down on me, trying to swallow back his heavy breathing. He let go of my wrists, and I struggled to sit up and untangle myself from him. My thighs ached from the position I had been laid in, and I felt wet.

_Wait what?_

I was confused overall. I felt unbelievably lost in what had just happened.

I heard my brother grumble when we'd both calmed down, "You just _came_ , you _idiot_."

"I…I didn't…" I responded, still too unsure to even make a reply, but I did anyway to assure myself. However, that ended quicker than I anticipated it would when Sam pointed out my reason.

"Yes, you _did_." he said, and to my horror, he pushed me back on to the sofa arm and forcefully unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my fly, all the while forgetting this was my first time at engaging in something so lewd. There, I reluctantly glanced down to see he was right — half my underwear was damp.

I wanted to slap him for everything he did then, but I was too scared. Not _of_ him, but of everything else. I had yet to learn all of it. Despite my age, I was somewhat younger (mentally) and I never thought of needs like that.

I shook my head, and looked to my brother who just stared right back at me.

I felt a little betrayed by him.

When nothing else was said or spoken of, I got up and briefly fixed the front of my jeans before hurrying out of the lounge, thoughts and pictures filling my head when I headed up the staircase and to my room, shutting and locking the door.

I had wondered then what Sam must have been thinking about it. The look on his face said nothing, but I knew, somewhere inside him, he regretted doing it. I knew he felt remorse.

Before I could even debate more on what had happened, Mom's calling voice rang through the house — an indicator to say that dinner was ready.

 

 

 

 


End file.
